The Rose's Thorns
by violingirl101
Summary: -"Sometimes love is stupid, but so was Trout Walker. Roses have thorns, but they are beautiful. So was Kate Barlow." The life of Katherine Barlow, and also Trout Walker, starting from when they were kids in the town of Greenlake. Please R/R.
1. Prologue

* * *

**_The Rose's Thorns_**

Disclaimer: I don't own _Holes _or any of it's characters, and I don't own _Annabel Lee._

* * *

Trout's eyes foucused on her. She wouldn't dare leave. They stood before her, begging her... She couldn't escape. Not now.

Not after everything. She _couldn't _die. She was leaving him wanting so much...

_Sometimes love is stupid, but so was Trout Walker._

Pain surged through her body. Her life was fading; she was so fragile and weak. She'd be with Sam, and that's all she wanted. She didn't care about the people in front of her; for all she cared they could die digging. Especially _him. _She laughed, she laughed and laughed.

She laughed until it was over.

_Roses have thorns, but they are beautiful. So was Kate Barlow._

He clenched his fists, hardening the tears. He couldn't cry in front of her; but he, so badly, wanted to release all the tradgedy, and all the rage. It couldn't be happening, but it was. Everything flashed before him: Her words, her angering words. The dark lake, and her unforgiving eyes watching him as the shot that would kill the one she loved most was fired, the times he was with her when she needed him most. They were all there; the memories. He wondered if she remembered him, too.

It might have just been the end of the war between Katherine Barlow and Trout Walker.

But he'd remember; his entire life, he'd remember.

* * *


	2. Dead

They used to be friends, though, Katherine Barlow and Trout Walker.

* * *

Fourteen-year-old Trout kept sneaking peeks at her, turning his brown eyes from the open Texas sky to that golden hair, shining brilliantly in the sun.

Katherine's hands stuck out far on either side, helping her keep graceful as she crossed the wiry log fallen across the creek feeding off the lake. She had so much balance, being so much younger than him. So much _shorter_.

He knew he had to beat her across. He let half his body hang over the water as he slipped around her, and one hand held her waist, just making sure she wouldn't fall off in the process.

"Hey!" she shouted. Trout wavered as he moved quicker, his feet almost tripping as one moved in front of the other. Finally, he jumped onto solid land, standing tall and proud until she jumped off, too, a couple of seconds later. She put her hands on her hips, looking so unique with her rose-colored dress just a _little bit _dirty, fat books bulging from the nice little bag slung around her shoulder. But, definitely, she looked unique in a good way. _Beautiful_.

Her anger hadn't lasted long, though, if it had even been there.

They both sat down in the dewy green grass, feet dangling over the thin, shallow valley and the strip of emerald water. There were long, silent moments before either one of them talked.

"Does my dress look a bit dirty to you?" she inquired, looking up at him with in inquisitive blue eyes. She smoothed out the long pink skirts with both her petite hands. Trout looked at them; the dress and the hands, and shrugged rather nonchalantly.

"I guess, a little," he says.

She turns her head to the side, the corners of her lips curving into a crooked smile. But her eyes were full of wonder. "My daddy would kill me over a big stain in a new dress. It isn't _that _bad, is it?" Trout opened his mouth to reply, but she kept on talking. "Perhaps he could wash it in the creek. Do you think that would get the dirt out?"

Trout's eyes widened.

Katherine rolled her eyes and pinned a wisp of blond back into the neat head of fastened curls behind her. "I don't mean _taking off _my clothes and washing them. That would be rather improper, especially at my age; I was talking about just getting in the water and washing the skirts."

Trout would have argued that the dirt wasn't that bad and that the odd manner in which she would clean it might smudge and spoil her dress. But it sounded fun, and he would take the blame for the wetness and smudges, Daniel Barlow wasn't one to punish his daughter terribly over a small offense such as this. "Okay," he agreed.

They _rolled _down the grassy hill leading to the valley, and leapt into the swimming hole at the mouth of the creek, laughing and splashing. This was the friend's haven in Greenlake, Texas. It was their watery heaven.  
Greenlake, Texas _was_ heaven.

When the sun began to ease down across the horizon, the dirt patches were lighter but still there, rather runny. Katherine was sure they would dry invisible.

Katherine and Trout had arrived on Beaut, Katherine's favorite horse; russet-colored filly from her father's stables. The horse's ears were erect as the fair-faced child pulled a cube of sugar from her bag, holding her hand out in front of her in a sign of greeting. Trout patted her coarse, shining neck, breathing in the scent of pine and outdoor air. Katherine untied the old, undone rope from the tree, gathered it together and stored it in the saddlebag. Trout helped her up Beaut as any gentleman would do, and then mounted himself.

Katherine spurred the horse to a gallop, and the boy had to crane his head to the side to avoid being beaten with a coil of her hair. He was almost frightened as, when the trees whirled by, he'd look up to see and oak or birch directly in front of them. Katherine would always steer right or left just before they'd crash into it, scaring both her friend and the horse. She loved doing so.

He smiled as he heard her musical laugh ring out through the open fields of farmland, riding along fields of wheat or corn or cotton. This is why he chose her for a friend; her enthusiastic outlook on the world, her joyful personality.

They were approaching a short, decaying wooden fence lined with wires, and Beaut because slowly resistant, and it was too late when Trout saw the large bull snake slithering on the uprising dirt. The horse reared, holding Trout but throwing Katherine. He tried to hold her, but her arm and soft, pliant skin twisted out of his grasp, and there was a loud ripping noise as her dress tore into a long, jagged rip, and, Trout was sure, her thigh and upper-calf. He jerked Beaut to a stop and leapt from the saddle, bending down next to her and gently pulling the spoiled riding dress up to were he could see the wounds. She screamed rather brusquely as he placed his hand on her arm.

"I'm getting you back to your daddy and, pretty soon, to the Doc," Trout instructed.

"No!" Katherine whined sharply. "He'll skin me alive!"

"The doc?" Trout asked.

"My daddy!"

Trout laughed dryly, shaking his head. "When he sees this…" he said. "Well, let's say this barb wire has already skinned you 'purty bad."

He cradled her back to Beaut, where he took the reins and rode carefully back into town to the Barlow's little horse farm.

**8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8**

Daniel Barlow examined his daughter's bloody leg with furrowed eyebrows. "Darlin'," he said. "We'd better take you to Doc, so he can stitch you up 'fore it gets any worse." He sighed, bunching up the fine pink cloth. "You've ruined your ridin' dress."

Katherine's face flushed of color, and Trout didn't know whether it was over the dress, or the mention of stitches. The room -the house- was silent, with only Katherine, Mr. Barlow and Trout standing still in the little area of chairs and sofas.

(Her mother had died of influenza when she was a baby.)

At Doctor Hawthorn's it wasn't much different; Trout held her hand while Daniel talked, watching her leg as if he feared it would run away. Doc had a smile affixed on his face, nodding and watching the two children. He told Katherine's father he was welcome to leave, he knew he and Jonathon Wadley had plans to go hunting.  
Trout wondered if he should leave, too.

No. She wanted him to be there.

He did wander around the office as Doc mended Katherine's wounds, looking at pictures of the doctor and his wife, Millie, old friends and landscape. He peered out the window, noting that the sky was the color of a robin's egg, flushed with pink the color of…

That old ripped riding dress. A lovely shade of pink roses or carnations, cotton candy.

He watched the Wadley man and Daniel Barlow cut through the brush, their rifles over their shoulders, laughing and yelling unintelligible things. Trout had a gun of his own; though it wasn't much and it wasn't used often, only when he'd go off with his father and the other men. Katherine said that guns were destructive and should only be used when a hungry man needs an animal. Her decision was based entirely contradictory from her father's. That was another thing Trout liked about her; she had a mind of her own.

A wispy cloud floated across the sky, lone and almost a soft grey. He studied that for a moment, only until Doc came into the room, next to Katherine, her right leg bandaged in white gauze, a simple smile stretching across her face.

"It may hurt a bit," Doc said. "But she'll be able to walk just fine. It's more in the thigh; she would be temporarily immobile if it had gotten any farther down. Good thing she's got such little legs…"

Trout nodded, smiling back.

Katherine walked, a little stiffly, towards him. "Did my daddy go hunting?" she asked, always jubilant.

"With Jonathan Wadley," Trout added.

"Hmm…" she said. "Could you come back to my house to keep me company? We could feed the horses and then I could show you a bit of poetry I've been working on…"

Katherine had a strong interest in poetry, and Trout knew it was her main dream to become a schoolteacher when she grew to the right age.

"Sure," Trout said.

**8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8  
**  
The horses had been graciously fed extra. Extra feed, a carrot from both the children, and a pat on the head. Twice.

Trout enjoyed the poetry, found it magical. But he had no interest in writing and poetry whatsoever. He didn't have an education, you know.

They sat on the oak window seat, next to each other, reflecting on the day. She had unpinned her hair and was wearing a new dress; blue as the afternoon sky with white accents. Both her hands sat on it, tucked and still, while her left leg swished back and forth. Suddenly, her attention turned to behind her, out the window, to three men, one with a rust brown jacket, one dressed in black, one with a leather vest.

"Do you hear them?" Katherine asked, standing.

"They're yelling something," Trout confirmed. "But I don't know what."

Trout recognized all three of them. One was the deputy, one Jonathan Wadley, one his father, John Walker…

"Where's my daddy?" Katherine yelped, her voice glazed with rising panic.

Trout had no answer.

She rushed downstairs, through the living room and out the door. Trout jogged behind her, a bit frightened, his head spinning with thoughts. "Wait, Katherine!"

She only picked up speed as she reached the three familiar, red-faced men.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice quavering.

"Katherine…" Trout's father laid his hand down on her shoulder. Trout didn't like the tone of his voice. His eyes were filled with worry.

"Where's my daddy?" Katherine cried.

The deputy sighed and shook his head at Wadley. John Walker just patted her shoulder again. "It was an accident," he said. "I'm sorry, sweetie."

A lump was stuck in Trout's throat.

"Where's _Daddy_?" she whispered.

"He's gone."

"Missing?" Trout asked, though he knew the answer.

"He's not with us anymore," the deputy sighed, reaching out towards the girl. Katherine ducked away. She was frozen, but long streaks of tears gilded down her cheeks.

"_Oh my God." _She clasped her hand to her mouth, though it didn't restrain the tears.

"I'm sorry."

"_He was_ _my daddy!_" she screamed, stumbling back. "He said he'd always be there! He's gone… He's _gone_…"

Trout wanted to fix it… He watched his best friend loose what's most important, and he couldn't do anything…

"They'll bring him in," said the deputy to John.

"Where's she going to go?" Trout demanded. "She has nobody!"

"There's a relative in northern Texas, her uncle and aunt, Will and Nora Barlow."

It wasn't long before he began crying, too. He wanted to hug her, cry with her, but she had strayed away and wasn't letting a soul near her.

The men began fading away, and finally, they were alone.

"He's gone," she repeated.

"I'm sorry." That was all Trout could say. He was sorry.

She stumbled forward, wrapping her arms around him and letting out fresh tears. He wanted some way to make her feel better, but he didn't know _how_. There was a moment, just a pause, when see stopped for a breath and stepped back. Her eyes met his, and he pulled back a bit of her hair, taking caution. She sniffed a bit.

I kissed her.

He really didn't know why. He wanted to make her feel better and it just… happened. She slipped away, taking one final glance at him before running, running as fast as she could possibly go, away from the world… Away from death.

"I'm sorry," he said.

* * *

_I was a child and she was a child,  
In this kingdom by the sea;  
But we loved with a love that was more than love -  
I and my Annabel Lee;  
_

* * *


	3. The Barlow Estate

_A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling  
my beautiful Annabel Lee;

* * *

_

The funeral was only two hours. It seemed like an eternity.

When news got out that Daniel Barlow was dead, the heart of the town stopped beating for a while, the people paused, and everyone looked at Katherine just a little bit funny. He was dead, and they were taking his orphan daughter away. To Trout, it seemed unfair. His father's best friend was dead, and his best friend was dead, too. That wasn't _entirely _true; she still lived, but she hardly spoke and her eyes were empty, that joyful sparkle faded to black.

Trout stood by her side, as he always had, the day that her Auntie Nora and Uncle Will would pick her up and take her to the Barlow Estate. She told him that when she was little, her father took her to their house for a couple of the holidays. They had about six or seven welsh corgis with English names that they would treat better than her, and Nora called her "Child" instead of by her proper name. Will never talked, only stared with blank eyes, always seemingly annoyed. Trout cringed at the thought of living here; he stared at his friend with wide eyes, his hands set in his pockets.

John Walker came up beside them, bending down beside Katherine, brushing back her hair. "Be good for your family. Your daddy would want it." He patted her back and sighed, shifting to unbend his knee. She buried herself in his arms at the sound of hoof beats on the solid ground. Several townspeople had stopped on the side of the road to watch Katherine Barlow leave, melancholy looks shading their faces. A carriage drawn by six white horses came into view, and Trout stood straight.

The carriage came to a pause, and one man and one woman came out from either side. The woman, Nora, had graying hair pinned atop her head, almost frigid blue eyes and a pale emerald green dress on her straight body. She watched both Kate and Trout. "There are _two_?" she asked John, who was, perhaps, the authority. Trout didn't like the sound of her voice.

"No," he said, smiling falsely. "This is my son, _Charles,_ and he's just her friend, saying goodbye."

"How old are you, Charles?" she asked Trout.

"Fourteen." That gold tooth in the corner of his mouth glinted in the sunlight.

"Older…" she says, pausing to think. She turns her attention to Katherine. "Are you packed, child?" she asked. She _did _call her "Child". It sounded so cold, too.

"Yes," she said weakly, holding up a leather suitcase.

"Well, come on, then."

Katherine looks back at Trout, who smiles shortly and then looks away.

She shyly gets in between Nora and Will, (who hasn't spoken) and looks at Greenlake one last time. Trout looks up at her. He waves.

He watches as those white horses pull away, and the dusty road and big Texas sky swallow her up.

**8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8**

Katherine drops her bags, stepping off the veranda, looking around the large, cream-colored room. Two rust and white corgis run in and push up her dress up with their moist black noses, licking her legs above her little brown boots, the ones her daddy gave her. She can't help but smile, petting the wriggly dogs' coarse fur.

Auntie Nora walks in; the sharp click of her boot heels against the white marble floor almost scares the girl, and brings the dogs to attention.

"Rolfe! Jacob!" she nearly _shrieks_. (What funny names for dogs, Katherine thinks.) The corgis shake their stubby little tails, watching Nora attentively. A freckled man with a bright red face, hair and mustache, peeks in from another room, and then scurries out.

"Oh! You must be Katherine Barlow. Nice you meet you, Katherine." He has a thick Russian accent, and has a toothy smile. He shakes her hand, and she sees how small her hand really is compared to his. Nora, for once, smiles, holding her hands behind her back and watching the man.

"This is Sergei," she says. Sergei is simply ecstatic. Katherine finally feels welcome; almost. The last time she was here she slipped on the marble and hurt her knee, and her father was there… Now she felt sick to her stomach. _Her father._

She wishes Trout were here, too.

Her room is pale yellow, black and white furniture placed everywhere. She fills the closet with dresses and boots, and decorates the walls and shelves with pictures and books. She has a beautiful view of the farm; the horses and green grass. Gardens and lush bushes, the open sky and the clouds, like thick marshmallows hanging in the blue. She pulls an oak desk chair up to the window and takes a seat in it, and she sits in it for the next hour or so. It's not the view that keeps her there; it's the blizzard of thoughts in her head.

Will comes up to her room and silently announces that it's dinnertime, and Katherine gets up from her seat and steps carefully down the stairs. She smells coconut. She also smells chicken…

Sergei has prepared a wonderful dinner, and Arielle, the maid, serves it on china plates. Katherine is almost shocked by the kind nature of the house hands, and the cold personality of the estate owners. Money can do terrible things to people. These people, perhaps, may have far more money than the Walkers. The fact stunned her.

Dinner is eaten in silence at the table at which Nora and Will and Katherine sit, but the table in the kitchen where Sergei and Arielle and James, (the farm help) sit is buzzing with conversation. Katherine watches them, and she longs to take her plates and silverware and join them.

She couldn't.

An oil lantern guides her around the house at night, and she walks around the room, fixing things and getting settled in, and, finally, the moon and stars lull her to sleep. The white curtains rise and fall, shift and dance in the breeze coming from the open window. Katherine had said a prayer at her bedside, and, before she tucked herself in, she said:

"Goodnight, Daddy. Goodnight, Greenlake."


	4. Potential

**Disclaimer: I don't own any original characters, settings, ect. From "Holes." I am female, therefore, I am not Louis Sachar.**

I am an aspiring author, and your critique would be much appriciated. :)

ABOUT THREE YEARS LATER

Katherine sat in a chair, staring into the mirror that sat, pressed up against the wall, on a cherry wood desk. She grabbed a brush from the smooth surface and began brushing her blond mane, smoothing the locks and twisting them up with pins. She stared at her reflection, how much older her features were, how her hair was expertly curled around her slender face, how her eyes were no longer the eyes of a playful child, but rather the deep, attentive, blue eyes of a young woman. She then wondered how only a few years of being here, at her stern aunt and uncle's estate, could affect her so much.

She wore a dress colored robin's egg blue, one of the many new dresses in her wardrobe that were far prettier than the ones she had worn back in Greenlake. She did still wish to wear the tattier, more comfortable ones, the ones her father had once given to her. Nora had objected to this; saying she must look like a proper young lady and not wear dirty clothes, and that she had, anyways, outgrown them.

She picked up a couple of books and a few pages of schoolwork, clutching them to her chest as she scurried down the stairs. She smelled breakfast as soon as she walked down the last step, and she could see Arielle in the kitchen, her straight auburn hair in a long braid down her back. Her violet eyes were affixed on beans and bacon; a breakfast that was often served in the Barlow Estate.

"Morning, Arielle."

Katherine's soft southern voice was so quiet and monotone that it went unnoticed for a few seconds, then the young maid noticed another presence in the room.

"Oh! Hello, Katherine. Up early, as always. How is your morning?"

"Wonderful. How is yours?"

Arielle paused for a moment. "Not so good, I'm afraid to say. Mrs. Barlow is in a pretty awful mood."

Katherine winced. She didn't want to be in the house when her aunt was in a spiteful mood... Not again.

"I'm... Going to school now, Arielle. It was nice having a conversation with you." She forced a little smile and flitted out of the kitchen, almost tripping over the skirts of her dress.

"School this early?" Arielle called after her. "Wait! At least have a bit of breakfast!"

The girl snagged two or three pieces of bacon and continued out the door, just as she heard Nora stomping down the stairs. "I think I'll walk around a bit before I head on to school. Goodbye!"

Cold air slapped Katherine's face as she ran outside, past the spacious porch and the azaleas tucking up their colorful flowers for fall. She bent down and laced one of her little brown boots, then swiftly walked down the little cobblestone path that ran through the peach orchard. Most of the peaches had been picked or had mottled and died, but a few hung low, still good, their fuzzy skin chilled from the air.

She took one and bit into it, a bit of juice drizzling down from her lips.

She smiled and continued her walk, thinking of how much she _loved _peaches.

She watched the sun rise in front of her, flushing the sky with light. The stars were fading to the blue sky, and the moon was nearly invisible. Dew sparkled on the green grass, throwing a white glitter. This time of morning was her favorite, an escape from everything else. It wasn't as special as her spot back home in the little Texas town with Trout, but it was definitely a beautiful haven.

Her boots met the dirt road leading into town, and her eyes met two boys in a field of wheat. Her walking didn't stop, but slowed. She didn't want to capture their attention. One of the boys, a sandy blond, she recognized; his name was Pace Robertson, and he went to school with her when he wasn't working on his daddy's farm. His sister, Juliette, was one of her new friends. The other boy was black, with short hair and a brown hat. Katherine gasped as she saw scarlet blood dripping from his nose.

Pace hit him.

The black boy stumbled back a bit, almost collapsing into a bed of golden wheat. "Stop," he murmured.

"'Git outta here!" Pace yelled. He kicked the other boy's knee.

"Stop!" Katherine screeched. She backed up a bit when Pace spun around. When he saw it was just her, he obliviously continued doing what he was doing. Katherine was utterly horrified.

Stopping him physically would be dumb and _very _unladylike. But, then again... She would be saving the black boy. Only her aunt Nora would really care if she were ladylike or not.

"I said **_stop_**!" she yelled, then jolted into the field. She sprang and pinned Pace to the ground, knocking him off the other boy. Pace almost swung his fist at the person on top of him, but then he opened his dark green eyes to see it was that little golden-haired girl he went to school with.

"You're a _gu-rl," _he drawled. "What is a prissy thing like you goin' around and knockin' me down?"

She spit on him.

The black boy let out a dry laugh, and Pace rolled out from under Katherine and stumbled off.

Katherine kneeled to the ground and took out an old handkerchief and wiped up the blood from under the boy's nose. His dark brown eyes met hers, and he smiled sweetly. (A smile Katherine would never, _ever _forget.)

"Thanks," he said.

"Your welcome," she replied lightly, shaking his calloused hand. "I'm Katherine."

Nora had told her never to talk to black people.

"Sam," he replied. "I needed some money, so I came to work for the Jamison's, down the road. Pace always goes and beats me up."

She bit her lip.

"I come from Greenlake, in Southern Texas," he said.

"Me, too," she whispered, obviously amazed.

"Greenlake...Maybe I'll go back there some time."

"I think I will, too," she said. Even though her father wasn't there, and she was too young to have a place of her own, she still had things, people, she had to get back to.

She paused for a moment, then stood up. "I need to be on my way. It was nice meeting you, Sam."

"Call me Sam the Onion Man," he said, grinning.

She raised an eyebrow.

"I like onions."

"...Oh."

"When I get back to Greenlake, I'll sell them."

She looked around, digging her toe into the dirt. "It's nice to plan for the future."

Aunt Nora also said black people don't have futures.

"Goodbye," she said softly, turning on her heel just slowly enough to see Sam wave.

* * *

Miss Georgia was cleaning her desk when Katherine arrived at the schoolhouse, awkwardly standing by herself, holding all her complete, correct homework and books that were far more advanced than any of the other children her age would read.

"Hello, Katherine. You're here early... again." Miss Georgia looked up and smiled, then continued wiping with a slightly damp cloth, picking up flower vases holding marigolds and setting them back down, shifting the positions of books, and wiping down the chalkboard that stretched across one wall.

"I wish I were a teacher," Katherine said, scanning the room with eager blue eyes.

She always said this.

"You know," said Miss Georgia. "Some women aren't much older than you when they begin teaching. Besides, you aren't learning much. You just seem to know... everything."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Katherine said through a grin. She walked up right beside the teacher's desk and stacked her papers in a neat pile in one corner. She pointed to a question written in neat script. "I wasn't sure about that one."

Miss Georgia peered at the page. "I believe it's right."

Katherine touched a marigold's tender, orange-yellow petal, and her eyes fixed on her favorite desk, the one right in front of where the older woman stood. She sat down, drumming the tips of her boots on the hardwood floor. Miss Georgia cleared her throat, causing Katherine to look at her inquiringly.

"Sweetheart, you've passed the final eighth grade exam with an excellent score, you're smarter than all the other students, and you're just about old enough to move on."

Katherine blinked, furrowing her eyebrows.

"Are you saying I can be a teacher?"

"Oh, you must do many more things, and you must be a bit older, but I'd say perhaps pretty soon, if that's what you wish to be."

"Aunt Nora says..."

"Katherine, does your aunt have any idea how smart you are, or is she just sending you here everyday?"

"I read books instead of doing my chores sometimes, and she says I should save books for school. I suppose she thinks I'm pretty smart. She doesn't exactly care about me, though."

"Hmm..."

"I want to be a teacher at Greenlake. There's an old schoolhouse there, and I don't think there's a schoolteacher there, at the moment."

"You have the potential, I'd say," Miss Georgia finished, just as Juliette Robertson stepped into the classroom.

As Katherine turned to greet her friend, she spotted Sam "the Onion Man" walking across the road.

_"Greenlake...Maybe I'll go back there some time."_


End file.
